This blood running though me,
has been spilt many times before,
it's gone just about everywhere,
even stained my bedroom floor.
Will he always look down on me?
Will she ever help me?
I cant help the things I do,
it looks like I'm out of luck.
Another rusty blade I hold,
it would just be another cut,
does it ever make me happy?
I think its everything but.
Will he always put me down?
Will she ever protect me?
If there isnt a thing they can do,
they can just leave it be.
Please dont judge me,
for what you dont understand,
but if you want to help me,
I'm always looking for a hand.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A helping hand through the darkest time. A very deep write Patricia Gale